


Funny Business

by radishface



Category: K-pop, NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishface/pseuds/radishface
Summary: Minhyun and Jonghyun hook up.Pre-W1 one-shots.1 | funny business | It’s hard to be the good guy when Minhyun is rubbing up on him like this.2 | after hours | Delayed gratification makes everything ten times better.





	1. funny business

 

 

“Min—” Jonghyun moans, as Minhyun’s tongue drags across his mouth. “Not here—”

 

He is backed against the mirror, desperately trying to free himself before things get really out of control.

 

#

 

Minhyun has been acting strangely all day, vibrating with some barely-restrained tension. They had a fanmeet in the afternoon, followed by dress rehearsal in the evening; Jonghyun figures it’s just the adrenaline comedown from the near miss earlier that day. It had been close, after all; unsecured properly, one of the giant spotlights above stage had come crashing down during rehearsal and would have pulped Minhyun if it hadn’t been for Jonghyun, who yanked him out of the way just in time. Jonghyun took a cut on his cheek from the shrapnel but Minhyun had escaped unscathed, thank God.

 

But Minhyun is still all shakes after that. Their manager tells the two of them to get changed out of their costumes and go home.

 

As they stumble into the empty dressing room, it becomes increasingly clear that something is wrong. Minhyun trembles as he shucks off his blazer, his shirt untucked and rumpled enough to reveal a triangle of pale abdomen—he teases his fingers through his hair, matted with sweat.

  

Jonghyun pauses halfway through de-suiting to openly gawk. Minhyun has rolled up his sleeves to pull off his gloves with his teeth, and promptly sucks his fingers into his mouth. He makes a rough, low-pitched growl.

 

“Minhyun—” Jonghyun says, wanting to ask if he’s okay—had the medics given him something earlier?—but before he can articulate his concern, Minhyun is advancing on him predatorily, saliva-slick fingers sliding over his own lips. Jonghyun only realizes he’s backing up when he hits the vanity counter and knocks a stand of makeup brushes over.

 

“Kiss me,” Minhyun demands, and lunges for Jonghyun’s mouth. Jonghyun is too thunderstruck to ask for an explanation or argue or even do as he is told, but the bewilderment of having Minhyun’s mouth pressed against his soon passes when Minhyun’s hand gropes at the inside of his thigh. Realization sets in, accompanied by a selfish stab of disappointment. He's heard of this behavior before. It‘s actually a growing concern in their industry—

 

“Wait,” he gasps, deflecting Minhyun’s roaming hands. “Minhyun, you're—oh geez, did you eat something they gave you at the fanmeet?” It’s an uncommon tactic for attention, but incidents are more frequent than one would suppose: their agency has warned them about crazed fans slipping aphrodisiacs into homemade cookies or cupcakes just to know they could have that kind of... effect on their favorite idols. And Minhyun’s pupils are blown, flush riding high on his cheeks.

 

“Don't care,” Minhyun growls, tongue flicking over Jonghyun’s lips. “I want you in me.”

 

The bluntness of the statement makes Jonghyun choke out a short, startled laugh. Whatever is in Minhyun’s system, it’s destroyed his inhibitions as much as it’s turned him on. Where did people get this kind of stuff, anyway? “No, come on. Let's get you to the medics to sober up.”

 

“I don't want that. I want you.” Another lick at Jonghyun’s mouth makes his knees buckle and his hands grab for Minhyun’s shoulders. Minhyun radiates heat like a furnace.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Jonghyun groans out. “Minhyun, don't. Don’t make this hard for me.”

 

The lascivious smirk that spreads across Minhyun’s face is terrifying in its unfamiliarity. Jonghyun shoves him back a step before he can make the obvious lewd remark. Minhyun grunts in protest and surges forward again, this time attacking the remainder of Jonghyun’s stage outfit. “Get this off,” he says. “Kim. Jonghyun. Take it off. I need you.”

 

“Listen to me,” Jonghyun says, catching his hands. Minhyun squirms and twists, trying to free himself. “Listen. You're not yourself—holy wow are you not yourself—and I won’t let you do this. It's the stuff talking.”

 

“No,” Minhyun replies, ceasing his fruitless struggle to step forward and press against Jonghyun. “I’ve watched you for a long time.” He nuzzles at Jonghyun's neck as he breathes the words into his skin. His voice rumbles low, almost a purr. “I like to watch you dance. When you perform. Good footwork. Good handwork. Always doing your best. The way you turn into JR and back. Imagined how it would feel to have Jonghyun look at me the way JR looks at the camera—”

 

“Stop,” Jonghyun says, shaken. Evidently Minhyun’s filter is completely blown to bits, and Jonghyun’s resolve will go to the same fate if he has to listen to Minhyun describe his fantasies—fantasies about him—in explicit detail. Jonghyun is already uncomfortably hard and trying to hide it, without much success.

 

“Caught you watching me, too,” Minhyun says, pressing a kiss to Jonghyun’s jaw when he jolts in alarm. “Thought I wouldn't notice? That’s cute, Jonghyun. I know you want me too. Have for years. No use denying it.” He reaches down to cup Jonghyun through his clothes, and—just when did Minhyun get his hands free?

 

“No,” Jonghyun says, guiding him away again. “I'm not—I can't deny that. But I want you to stop. Please.”

 

Minhyun’s mouth quirks up on one side, and Jonghyun hopes for a moment that his request has penetrated through the drug-induced lust, but then those fingers are crawling over him again, nimbly unbuttoning his shirt. Okay. He has to put an end to this, now.

 

Jonghyun grabs Minhyun’s arm, spinning him around so that he can pull it up behind Minhyun’s back. They struggle, turning until Minhyun is the one against the mirror, shirt open and bare skin pushed against the warmed glass by a hand on the back of his neck, pinned like a criminal. Minhyun could break the hold with minimal effort, but instead reaches back with his free hand to fondle Jonghyun’s thigh.

 

“Hmm,” he says, arching his back. “Good. Like this. Keep the suit on, JR.”

 

“Fuck!” Jonghyun breathes out, exasperated. “There’s no way you're really this kinky. Come on—” He pulls Minhyun away from the vanity and marches him towards the door, nudging him firmly forward whenever he stops to lean back against Jonghyun’s chest. 

 

“Not the medics,” Minhyun says, voice suddenly lucid enough that Jonghyun trusts it’s the real Minhyun talking. “Too embarrassing. It’ll pass on its own.”

 

Minhyun’s brow is damp with sweat and Jonghyun wipes it down with his sleeve. He feels terrible for Minhyun right now, who has squeezed his eyes shut and bitten down on his lower lip, as if trying to keep everything inside. “Okay, okay. Just home, then. My place, okay?”

 

Minhyun nods. 

 

They walk down to the parking garage, both of them still in their stage clothes, blazers crunched in front of their pants so they don’t show. Minhyun is somehow collected enough to stay sitting in the passenger’s seat the whole time, hyperventilating as he stares out the dark window. Jonghyun drives home as quickly as he can without breaking the speed limit.

 

Once they’re back in his apartment, Jonghyun puts the kettle on boil, hoping that brewing a cup of Minhyun’s favorite herbal tea will return him somewhat back to normal. He doesn’t know what else to try—a cold shower would involve far too much nakedness and wet skin to be safe. He pours some water over the loose leaves in the mug and turns around to find Minhyun on his knees and desperately fumbling at the button of his fly.

 

“No. No no no,” he says, increasing distress and arousal leaving his words precarious and uneven. “Not in the kitchen. _Please._ ” He sets the mug down and leans over to still Minhyun’s frantic scrabbling, leaving himself wide open for an arm to loop around his neck and pull him down. Minhyun buries his face in the crook of Jonghyun’s shoulder, breathing harshly as he digs his fingers into Jonghyun’s hand and presses it down over his heavy erection. He is achingly hard; Jonghyun’s own arousal echoes him dizzyingly.

 

“I need this,” Minhyun groans, rutting into Jonghyun’s palm. He keens in desperation. “Jonghyunnie. Help me.”

 

“I'm trying,” Jonghyun says, voice wan and high. “I'm trying. Just. Not like this. Please, don't—” He pulls his hand away, and Minhyun raises his hips to try and keep contact. “Let go, shhh. Let go. Here, drink this. Careful, it's hot.”

 

Minhyun takes the drink in unsteady hands and sucks the liquid down, heedless of its temperature, inhaling and exhaling audibly through his nose. He puts the mug down carefully, sways for a moment, then doubles up. Jonghyun realizes a split-second before the first tremor of his shoulders what’s wrong, and hauls him over to the sink in time for Minhyun to bring it all back up again, body shuddering violently as he retches.

 

“Hnk,” he manages between heaves. “Drugged.”

 

“Absolutely,” Jonghyun says, willing to concede to his paranoia this time. One hand is braced against his chest, steadying him as he pants and gulps. He’s so hot, burning up. “Feels like you have a fever.”

 

Minhyun spits into the sink, saliva spindling from his lip in a fine thread, and then slowly crumples to the tile floor.

 

#

 

Jonghyun has had to carry Minhyun a few times when they’ve danced themselves to exhaustion, but never far and never for long—getting Minhyun across the hall and to his bedroom is no small feat. For how elegant he looks on screen, Minhyun is dense, and by the time Jonghyun settles him in the recovery position, his own arms ache.

 

Minhyun is running a temperature. Jonghyun wets a towel and places it over his forehead and shoves a plastic wash basin next to the bed. He allows himself a squeeze of his teammate’s shoulder. “Gonna be a rough day tomorrow,” he murmurs. And then, jokingly: “Just be glad I’m not recording this for posterity.”

 

He leaves the doors to his room open so he can monitor Minhyun's breathing; he sounds ragged, but not too labored. His own phone is exploding with text messages from Minki and Aaron. On the couch in the living room, Jonghyun lays down to return them. Yes, they’re fine, Minhyun’s just feeling a bit ill, so Jonghyun will look after him for the night, he’ll text if he needs anything from the store, but no, it’s nothing to worry about.

 

_Maybe._

 

Uncomfortable heat pulsing between his legs, he tries to fall asleep with Minhyun's narcotic-induced confession making tantalizing suggestions to his libido.

 

“It all smells like you.”

 

Jonghyun sits up with a start—Minhyun has wandered back outside. “How are you feeling?” 

 

Minhyun doesn’t answer, laying beside Jonghyun on the couch and curling an arm around his chest to pull him back down, flush against hard muscle and hard heat. There’s a jolt in his spine when Minhyun’s mouth brushes the back of his neck, making his breath catch and shudder out.

 

“Minhyun,” Jonghyun whispers hoarsely, intercepting a pale hand as it spiders down his stomach. He rolls over, away from the insistent nudge of Minhyun’s hips. “C’mon, this isn’t right. Go back to bed.”

 

“Why?” comes the response, an invitation suspended in the dark.

 

Jonghyun walks Minhyun back to his own room and spends the rest of the night on the couch in the living room.

 

#

 

Minhyun steps slowly into the kitchen with precisely-measured movements. He looks sickly; lips chapped, face drawn and pale. Jonghyun watches him cautiously as he draws back a kitchen chair and eases himself down. “Why am I here?” he croaks.

 

“A bit early for existentialism, Minhyun,” Jonghyun says, trying to keep his voice light despite being beyond relieved that he isn’t being greeted with a come-on. Minhyun looks wrecked, which is expected, but Jonghyun doesn’t know whether to be glad or horrified at the memory loss.

 

“No, I—your bed, Jonghyun. Why was I…” he trails off. “I feel sick. My head hurts.”

 

Jonghyun slides a mug of tea in front of him. “You really don't remember?”

 

His hands close around the mug, gripping hard to disguise their trembling. “I—” he blinks rapidfire, then takes in a deep, noisy breath. “Nope.”

 

Jonghyun rubs his hands down his face. Minhyun is lying as best he can, but he is never particularly convincing when he tries to and he certainly doesn’t have the energy or the charisma for it this morning.

 

“Look, we have to talk about this,” Jonghyun says, pulling a chair up. “I'm not gonna have it eating away at our… our relationship.”

 

Minhyun shakes his head through a grimace, the motion obviously paining him. His voice croaks when he talks. “Nothing to talk about. Nothing except to apologize for the inconvenience. Jonghyun, I—” Minhyun trails off to stare at him, hard pupils boring a hole into Jonghyun’s own. “You wanted to.”

 

Time for the moment of truth. Jonghyun ducks his head in a solemn nod. “Yes.”

 

“But you… didn't.”

 

Jonghyun nods again, tries for something playful. “I only want you for your mind. And you weren’t your usual self, Minhyun.”

 

That elicits a snort, and a heavy pause. “Thank you,” Minhyun says, fingertips circling over the rim of his mug. “You're a good person, Jonghyun.”

 

Jonghyun smiles, reaching over to clasp his wrist. “You should go back to bed. You look like hell.”

 

Minhyun opens his mouth as though about to argue, then obviously thinks better of it. He sighs, scrapes back the chair and makes for the hallway, pausing in the kitchen doorway, hand curled around the frame. “Jonghyun,” he says, flush spreading across the back of his neck. “Come with me.”

 

Jonghyun’s breath catches again. He tries to keep his tone stern. “No funny business?”

 

“No funny business,” Minhyun promises.

 

The whole thing is kind of funny business, thinks Jonghyun as he crawls under the covers with Minhyun. As he settles into the mattress and hesitantly tucks himself around the curve of Minhyun’s back, Minhyun’s hands come up to hold his hands where they encircle his chest. He pulls them tightly, confidently together and dozes off.

 

Jonghyun stays awake for a little while longer marveling at the whole thing. Yep, it sure is funny business. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. I have no excuses. So Happy Friday, everyone! To all those in the U S of A, happy long weekend; to all those who celebrate it, Happy Lunar New Year!
> 
>  **Time to write** | 3 hours 20 minutes  
> 


	2. after hours

 

 

This is how Kim Jonghyun likes it best: When they’ve been hard-focused on a new routine and it’s been weeks since Minhyun has touched him or has let himself be touched. With nothing but his own hand in the short term, frustrated for relief, until the day comes.

 

Drenched from head to toe in sweat and exuberant from the synchronicity that’s found their group in a sudden hit of genius—that’s when Minhyun will look at him with anticipation in his eyes and the adrenaline will quicken Jonghyun’s pulse.

 

Minhyun always makes the first move. Sweet and accommodating on camera, he doesn’t bother with niceties when the day comes. Tonight, under the entirely reasonable guise of staying behind to go over their scripts for tomorrow’s variety show appearance, Minhyun locks the door to the studio and shoves Jonghyun onto the couch. Takes his mouth soft and hard with nips and bites that make Jonghyun moan and melt down pliant over the pleather upholstery and scramble for Minhyun’s belt buckle.

 

“No,” Minhyun says, bunching his fists into Jonghyun’s shirt. “Not this time. Up.”

 

Jonghyun makes a vague noise of complaint, scrapes his teeth along skin like alabaster until he’s hauled upright, shoved around unceremoniously until Minhyun has pulled him back up with one hand braced on his chest. Jonghyun’s legs stretch out along the length of the sofa.

 

A lazy smile unfurls across Jonghyun’s face as Minhyun works one-handed at his belt. This is not how it usually goes.

 

“Lift up,” Minhyun says, tugging at the waistband of Jonghyun’s pants. Jonghyun lifts his hips obediently and his pants come off. “And be quiet.”

 

“You'll have to talk, then,” Jonghyun says. Minhyun’s breath warms the shell of his ear as he unbuttons Jonghyun’s shirt and peels it away.

 

“What shall I say?” Minhyun asks with a sweetness that jars with how deliberate and intentional his movements are. His palm curves over Jonghyun’s thigh before he slides his hand inward, up, skates around the prominent bulge in Jonghyun’s underwear to rub the ridge of his hip bone.

 

Jonghyun squirms; this strange playfulness is having a profound effect. He's used to quick and silent fumbles stolen in the in-between moments, at most his name, whispered and low. “Don't care,” he says. “Anything you want to say, you can say.”

 

Minhyun shifts and lifts up Jonghyun’s hips to nestle himself in between Jonghyun’s legs. He leans forward and says, lips grazing Jonghyun’s feather-light, “I remember the first time we met.” His hand trails up Jonghyun’s bare stomach, up to his chest, fingernails grazing against Jonghyun’s skin.

 

Jonghyun is somewhere between a grin and a gape.

 

“Our eyes met across the studio,” Minhyun continues, closing his eyes. “And I knew from that moment that we were destined to be together.”

 

“You smacked me in the face during dance practice.” Jonghyun’s laughter is interrupted as blunt fingernails scrape over a nipple. He gasps, and those fingers push between his lips.

 

Nope. Jonghyun doesn't think he's going to last very long at all.

 

“Suck,” Minhyun says into his ear, and bites at the curve of Jonghyun’s neck. The hand that isn't dragging along Jonghyun’s cock cups his jaw, presses a thumb back between his lips. Jonghyun makes a helpless noise around the digit, and arches into Minhyun’s grip. He's rewarded with a low hum and the swipe of Minhyun’s thumb over the head of his cock. The languid pull and twist of Minhyun’s hand is driving him crazy; the way he's touching him so deliberately, like he’s been planning this all night.

 

That such thoughts exist behind that impassable calm face still kind of shocks him. It's goddamn hot to imagine that Jonghyun isn’t the only one thinking of what might happen later. While they're trekking from studio to studio, from practice to filming, while they dance side by side, Minhyun might be stealing glances or appreciating the lines of his body as he dances—

 

“Strong,” Minhyun breathes, so quietly Jonghyun almost doesn't hear him over the thundering of his own blood. He slides his thumb from Jonghyun’s mouth and runs it over his throat, his pectorals and tensed abdominals, leaving a slick ribbon in its wake. “Honed. Dedicated. Given to your practice.”

 

“My body is my work,” Jonghyun murmurs. He knows he's struck at the heart of things when he hears Minhyun’s breath catch in his throat. Yeah, he’s not being told to shut up now. He'll bet that wasn't part of Minhyun’s plan, but he has no idea how easily Jonghyun can read him, sometimes. “And now it's in your hands.”

 

Jonghyun can pinpoint the exact moment Minhyun’s composure snaps: it's the same time his own does.

 

Minhyun bucks against him and tightens his grip around Jonghyun. Jonghyun reaches up, holds the back of his partner's neck and thrusts into his tightened fist, lets him mouth words against his shoulder. He catches fragments at first—my hands, feel this, then he lifts his head to suck in a deep breath, says, “Jonghyun. I want to…”

 

“Tell me,” Jonghyun says, groaning as tension gathers itself and pulls his muscles taut, until he's digging his heels into the sofa cushions. “Please. I want to hear you.”

 

"I want to..." Minhyun repeats, hesitates again and god Jonghyun just wants him to lose it, wants him to unleash every filthy word he knows and transform them into promises.

 

They've never been inside each other, neither of them brave enough yet, but Jonghyun is finding his courage in moments like this. Finding something, a rumbling cavern deep urge that wants Minhyun to hold him down and fuck him until the only words they can find for each other are disgracefully profane.

 

Minhyun’s strokes are becoming irregular and jerky. He's still fully clothed but shamelessly grinding against Jonghyun’s ass, and when he shudders bodily, presses his forehead into Jonghyun’s hair and swears, Jonghyun is left gasping, his climax catching him like a punch in the gut.

 

#

  
Jonghyun is roused from his post-orgasm nirvana by Minhyun drowsily wiping the both of them down with a series of tissues. His skin feels cool from where he’s been cleaned. Then Minhyun buttons his shirt back up and tucks him back into his briefs and leans forward, cradling Jonghyun’s body under his own. They are still like that for a while, listening to each other breathe, the sound of traffic from outside the studio reaching them only as an afterthought.

 

Jonghyun nudges Minhyun off before he can fall asleep, tempting as it is. He puts on the rest of his clothes and Minhyun disposes of the tissues in the wastebasket and takes out the bag. Jonghyun shakes his head, thankful for Minhyun’s attention to detail when it comes to eliminating evidence of wrongdoing.

 

Not that it’s wrong, he thinks, looking at the careful way Minhyun ties the plastic handles of the trash bag in a neat bow. Actually, feeling for Minhyun the way he does is one of the few things he’s ever done right in his life.

 

“Hey,” Jonghyun murmurs as they take final stock of the studio to make sure they’ve got everything. “So what was it you wanted?”

 

Minhyun’s hand is poised over the light switch. “Mm,” he smiles, and flicks off the lights.

 

“I’ll tell you next time.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love alpha!Min and beta!Bugi. More than I should. Also, I can’t leave the sexy versions of these two two alone, especially when Double Blind is... stuck in something of a rut. Writer’s block is the worst. @_@
> 
>  **Time to write:** 2 hours 45 minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Twitter! Come say hi: https://mobile.twitter.com/_radishface
> 
>  
> 
> _All writing is a labor of love. If you enjoyed this one-shot, consider leaving a kudo or a comment—they are our fuel to continue contributing to fandom! ♡_


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